


Not a Hunting Dog

by Adiaphory



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's irritated, Dog - Freeform, Fluff, Happy Sam, No Spoilers, Sam loves dogs, Shiba Inu - Freeform, Short, no monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adiaphory/pseuds/Adiaphory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiba Inus aren't known for being good hunting dogs but Sam thinks he can live with that. There was no way he'd give up Bobby's gift, not even if Dean hated the puppy more than life itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Hunting Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my friend who had just adopted a Shiba Inu puppy.

It was another restless night for the boys. Their already limited sleep was interrupted almost hourly by the incessant howling and whining of a small, five-week-old puppy they were attempting to crate train.

They never thought, with their dangerous lifestyle and lack of a home, that they would ever be responsible for the care of a dog. Then it happened—they went to visit Bobby’s place, rushing after a call that he had something _important_ for them… only to be presented with the impossibly fluffy Shiba Inu puppy.

Bobby claimed the dog would do well and came from a (now deceased) family of witches and that it would grow to be a very reliable dog for hunting. Because, of course, _everyone_ knows a twenty-pounds-at-fully-grown Japanese dog was the ideal hunter’s aid.

They spent the following week at Bobby’s (after he stole Dean’s car keys) trying to find a way out of this situation. Now they were sleeping on the couch and floor of the study with the whining, scared, caged puppy pulling at their heartstrings.

“Dean… Dean, go see what Al needs…” Sam groaned from his rigid position on the couch, trying to fit over six feet of body onto the five-foot sofa.

From the floor Dean mumbled under his pile of dog-scented blankets. “Stop naming him… You’ll get attached.” He winced at the pain in his back as he eased up from the floor and walked to the dog kennel.

The small puppy stared at him with his small, black eyes and attempted a feeble bark. It anxiously stamped its front paws over the old towel they had covering the bottom of the kennel in case of accidents. Dean sighed and kneeled in front of the little door.

“What is it… uh, what is it, Al? You need to go out?”

The puppy whined.

“Are you thirsty? Because I’m _not_ cleaning up another puddle when you can’t hold it!”

It whined again, desperate for attention of some kind.

Dean rubbed his temples and hesitantly opened the door and grabbed the dog with one hand. He carried it under his arm as he ventured into the kitchen to find the collar and leash. The oven clock said it was nearly four in the morning. Perfect.

Dean didn’t bother with putting shoes on, wanting to get this over with as soon as he could. He carried the puppy out of the house and shivered at the shock of cool morning air and dew beneath his feet. He sat the puppy on the ground and groggily held onto the leash. Little Al sniffed at all the fallen leaves and wasted time prancing around in the damp grass.

Once they were back inside Dean had rushed to put the damn dog back in his kennel. He rubbed his feet against the rug before settling back down on the floor. Maybe he could get a couple hours of sleep before it’s breakfast time for the puppy.

Dean closed his eyes and began to drift off… wakened again by more puppy screams.

“WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY NEED NOW?!”

* * *

The next morning Sam fed the fluff-ball by hand—Al refused to even eat from his own bowl—and tried to conceal his hidden, deeply-rooted joy to be near a dog. When Dean and Bobby weren’t around, Sam took great pleasure in playing with the puppy. He would rub his hands across the floor quickly and smile as Al tried to catch his hands with his small, soft paws. He loved petting the gentle, cotton ball fur and uncurling the tail to watch it bounce back.

Sam _loved_ dogs. He had to pretend he hated this idea… but damn it, if he had a chance of being with this sweet, precious cinnamon roll for the next twelve years then he would do whatever he could to ensure it.

The puppy gave out a playful howl at Sam after licking his hand clean. Sam smiled and ran his fingers across those perfectly soft triangular ears. “Good Al. _Good boy_.”

Unbeknownst to him there was an audience to his distracted time with Al. Dean shook his head and glared at Bobby’s smug face.

“ _You knew Sam’s weak for dogs,_ ” he growled.

Bobby chuckled. “Think of this as payback for being such a pain in my ass lately. _Idjit_.”

* * *

Unfortunately for Dean, Sam would continue to care for Al… and let him ride in the back of the Impala. Al had a distaste for classic rock and Dean swore he would start a doggy Fight Club if he had to listen to _Imagine Dragons_ on the radio one more time because _“it’s Al’s favorite band, Dean!”_

Dean swore he would take revenge for what Bobby has turned his life into—this stupid, apocalypse-bound movie where the dog is the hero. An idea clicked into his mind and he checked his rearview mirror for traffic.

“Hey, Sammy, didn’t we pass an animal shelter a few miles back?”

Sam looked up from his book and gave a skeptical look. “Yeah, why?”

Dean smirked and made a sudden U-turn. “I think Bobby would be a lot less of a dick if he had a cat… or five.”


End file.
